I'm a Cheater

I'm reading Middlemarch by George Eliot. Middlemarch is supposed to be one of the greatest books of English Literature, and the prototype example of the Victorian novel. However, it is extremely long (over 800 pages) and very slow moving. This is a self-inflicted act of martyrdom that has its root going back over 20 years when I was an exchange student at Coffs Harbour (Jetty) High School in Australia, and decided that it was time for me to become a culturally literate person. I made myself a list of novels, authors, and poets, that I felt I needed to read in order to become an intellectual and embarked on a life quest of reading classic literature. I finished my initial reading list within a matter of months, but have continued the practice throughout my lifetime.

This quest led me to major in English in college, and has brought me to the likes of Milton, Dante, Austen, Hugo, etc. Through it all there have always been classics that I didn't enjoy, like Beowolf, and the crazy bizarre French lit (Bartes, Zola, etc.) in my theory classes. On the other hand, my quest has also led me to many that I have loved again and again such as Austen, Hugo, Dumas, Frost, Cather, and more. Middlemarch is going to land I think on the leave-it side of take-it-or-leave-it, yet I am compelled by the terms of my quest to finish it.

Here's the thing-- I am completely swamped in Middlemarch. I started reading it months ago, and I am only about 200 pages from the end, but I can't bring myself to pick it up. So I have been sneaking around reading other stuff like magazine articles, holiday catalogs, and of course the Internet. I cruise around Barnes and Noble fantasizing about what I will read next. Or at least I was doing that until it happened--I started another book (a big one)-- The Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follett. I've been keeping it in my purse. That way I force myself to only read it on my lunch break or if I get stuck waiting somewhere. This keeps me honest about reading Middlemarch at home right?

Then, I bought another book that captured my eye, Musicophilia by Oliver Sacks. I love books about sensory perception and the brain and Sacks always has lots of fascinating cases in his books. I dutifully left the book on my pile, and kept slogging through Middlemarch, until I said to myself, "Oh, I can read one chapter, and then get back to Middlemarch, and it won't really be like I started another book, because it's just one chapter!" Haven't touched Middlemarch in about a week since I opened that book (except to move it to vacuum the floor in my bedroom).

So I'm a book cheater. I'm having an affair on my novel, with another novel and a sort-of-medical book. If I don't get back to Middlemarch soon, I will have to re-read to get caught up with where I am in the book. I think I may need serious help.